That infuriating warlock!
by Holmes1216
Summary: Harry Emrys has just moved into 221C and Sherlock is constantly annoyed by him, the stupid, crime-solving boy! So with a snickering forensic team, several Facebook posts and a few 'magical' incidents, Sherlock may have just found his next case. NO SLASH! Co-written with Alexia Blackbriar
1. Chapter 1

"Bored. Bored. Bored. Bored. JOHN GET DOWN HERE! Bored." Sherlock chanted this as he fetched his coffee and stumbled out of the kitchen. Suddenly the door bell rang

_DING DONG!_

Sherlock sighed as John came thundering down the stairs in all his half awake glory, jumper in place. He heard the sounds of the door opening and voices

"Uh...hi?" one tried. It was a new voice. Mrs Hudson was obviously stood next to John

"Hello. What do you need?" she asked kindly.

"It's me, Harry? I asked about the basement flat?" the voice inquired and Sherlock could almost hear the raised eyebrow.

" Oh yes, sorry dear, names and faces get a bit mixed up when you're my age, would you like to come in?" John shut the door and Sherlock called down the stairs

"Who is it?" John walked into the room with a smirk

"Like you don't already know" he said pulling someone into the room. It was a young man of about twenty five, he had jet black hair that looked like it would never sit down flat no matter how much gel was in it, he was pale, even paler than Sherlock (and that, was saying something), full lips and an air of wittiness that Sherlock was desperate to take down. But his eyes were the most strange thing about him, they were a bright cobalt blue, electric and full of an awful sense of fear and sadness that no one so young should hold. Sherlock had already deduced that he'd been in manual labor, judging by the calloused hands rings under his eyes and no sense of style. He'd lost someone very close, the sadness and bent shoulders told him that and he had a huge secret that he feared and had had to live with for years. Hmm. Interesting. The man grinned awkwardly

"I'm Harry Emrys" he said. Sherlock knew he was lying, although it was extraordinarily hard to detect. Even for him, so this 'secret' had been so dangerous he'd grown accustomed to lying. This man was a puzzle. Wrapped up in a mystery. John said

"I'm John Watson and this is, Sherlock Holmes" he grinned expecantly. It was a year after 'The Fall' and the 'reincarnation' of the detective had been in literally every newspaper in Britain. It had a world record. Harry frowned

"I'm sorry you're who now?" he asked. Sherlock frowned

"Sherlock Holmes. You don't read the newspapers?

"Nope. Bit boring reading about corrupt government officials when I have better things to be doing. Speaking of which, I need to call someone. It was nice meeting you Mr Holmes, Mr Watson" he said shortly before pulling out a phone and walking into the hallway. john frowned

"Is it just me, or does he remind you of someone?" he asked Mrs Hudson, staring pointedly at Sherlock, who ignored them and continued to eavesdrop on Harry with the microphones he'd planted in the hall. He was a Holmes for a reason you know, paranoid is in the job description. Harry took out his phone, dialed a number and put it to his ear

"Freya? Yeah it's me, oh, I got a job then! Fab! Where?...okay. I'll be there. Bye" he closed his phone, grabbed his jacket and said to Mrs Hudson

"I'll take the flat! BYE!" he called before slamming the door. Sherlock watched from the window as he hailed a cab an hopped in. About five minutes later he got a text from Lestrade

Got a stiff. East forty-ninth street. Be there! -GL

He smirked, called John and headed off to the crime scene

Sherlock and John clambered into a taxi and Sherlock quickly informed the cabby where they were heading. They slipped out and Sherlock turned his collar up on his coat, to John's amusement, as they found many police vans and inspectors at the scene, staring at them in curiosity or glowering in anger.

John suddenly stopped "WHAT THE HELL IS HE DOING HERE?"

There, standing in the middle of the scene, next to the murdered body, chatting cheerfully to Lestrade, was Harry Emrys.

"What are YOU doing here?" Sherlock demanded, grabbing Harry by his coat and dragging him toward him.

"What are YOU doing here?" Harry countered with a smirk, that looked familiar.

"You guys know each other?" Lestrade asked, frowning, looking between them.

"Harry just moved into 221c, next door to us." John explained, gazing at Harry, anticipating his reaction.

'Harry' was infuriating. That much was obvious. The man refused to tell anyone why the hell he was there, only replying to their demands with a sly smirk. One that made Sherlock want to give the stupid man a broken jaw. Harry shrugged away from them and bent down to examine the body once more.

* * *

Merlin bent down to examine the body. He shut his eyes to remain in 'Harry' form while he cast his magic out. He told it to find evidence. And luckily for him, thirteen thousand years of being the greatest warlock ever to live had given him more than a little control over his magic

"You're not going to find anything." Sherlock scoffed. He obviously thought he was the smartest person here Merlin smirked, straightening his back and rubbing his hands together before folding them across his chest.

"Male in his late-thirties, his name was Mark Hempson, he was a manager at a local bank that is four streets away from here. He has a wife, three kids, two dogs, German Shepherds I'm guessing by his cuffs. They live in a flat, North London. He was heading to the car park two blocks down to go home. By the way he was suddenly there and appeared here, I guess he heard or saw somebody, or followed somebody. He then received a sharp blow at the back of the head, shot twice in the back and was stabbed in the abdomen. Four men assaulted him, not sure about the reason, but probably because he was involved in a Heist to steal money from the bank, he failed to get the information, tried to break off with the group and totally messed up the whole operation for them, so they decided he was in the way and had to be disposed of."

John stared, shocked. "How do you know all that?"

"I didn't know, I noticed." Merlin smiled cheekily, since he knew it was one of Sherlock's lines.

"Harry, nobody can do that except Sherlock." Lestrade said, stunned.

"And there's only one Sherlock, believe me, I've checked." John added.

Sherlock gazed at Merlin, with a certain glint in his eyes. Merlin felt his magic reacting inside of him, warming his insides. Did Sherlock know? After all, he knew everything.

"Well... er... I'll leave you guys to clean up here." Merlin finished awkwardly. "I'll see you back at the flat, John, Sherlock." He began to stride away, but then stopped and turned around again. "Oh, and Lestrade... if his assistant manager has a blue pinstripe suit that has a Virgin Airways pen in the right pocket... arrest him, since he was the guy who set the heist up. Also, before you arrest him... I'd check in his lower back trouser pocket. You might find something you need there." and with that, the new kid sauntered away leaving a stunned detective, a gaping army doctor and a sniggering forensic team


	2. Chapter 2

"There's SOMETHING about him," John stated, pacing back and forth across the room.

Sherlock curled his lip. "You think I don't know that?" He could not deduce Harry Emrys. That infuriated him.

Suddenly, the door swung open. Harry stuck his head around the corner and he grimaced.

"Hi guys," he said in a fake-cheerful voice. "There's somebody here I'd like you to meet, she's living with me."

An extremely pretty girl, with dark chocolate curls, pale skin and glittering eyes strolled him, blushing slightly, gripping Merlin's arm. "Hi, I'm Freya -"

"You're Harry's boyfriend," Sherlock interrupted her, eyes narrowing. "You phoned him this morning about something, a job, and then he ran off to the crime scene."

Freya blinked, looking alarmed. "Er, yes. This is Sherlock, I presume?" she whispered to Merlin.

Merlin winked. "No worries, he can't do his thing on me." he murmured in reply.

"I'm John, hi," John introduced himself, shaking Freya's hand.

Freya and Harry glanced at each other before striding out, slamming the door behind them. John turned to Sherlock, who had a confused expression on his face.

"You don't have a clue, do you?" John said.

"Not in the slightest."

* * *

It was the middle of the night, past eleven, and Sherlock simply lay awake on the sofa, his mind buzzing. John had retired, not bothered about his flatmates obsessive thinking. He was just about to get up when he heard a small crash from the flat next door, and some cursing. Jumping up, he placed his ear on the wall and listened.

"For God's sake, Merlin - what have I told you about doing that in the living room?"

"Sorry, Freya - it just -"

"Happens, yes, I know."

"I can't control it."

"I know, it's not your fault. Come on, let's get to bed, it's already late."

"Leon and Gwaine are coming around tomorrow."

"Precisely, and if I know Gwaine, he won't rest until he's gotten you completely drunk and you're too drunk to even sleep. Come on, BED."

The lights from next door clicked off and their was the sound of a door being locked. Sherlock leaned back, frowning, before adopting his previous position on the sofa.

Freya had called Harry, Merlin. Harry was not his real name. It was fake. And what ever THAT was, he'd been doing in the living room, apparently it just HAPPENED without any kind of warning. What was Harry hiding?

Sherlock grinned. It looked like he had his next case.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Sherlock invited Harry over for breakfast. John was extremely surprised; it wasn't like Sherlock to be... well... NICE. Harry and Freya arrived at nine and they all ate in silence together. Harry was dressed in brown skinny jeans and a loose hanging blue shirt, with his signature red neckerchief. Freya was wearing a knee-length dark red dress, and looked extremely pretty in it. Sherlock narrowed his eyes slightly when he immediately noticed that Harry was shaking slightly, and that his girlfriend was shooting concerned and alarmed looks towards him.

"So, Harry, what's your new job?" John asked, trying to act neighbourly.

Harry blinked. "I'm sorry?" he replied, seemingly confused.

"Your job." Sherlock intercepted quickly, suspicious. "Freya mentioned it on the phone to you yesterday."

"Um... I..."

The buzzer suddenly rang from downstairs and Harry jumped out his seat, looking relieved. Sherlock huffed, annoyed at the interruption, shoving a mouthful of egg into his mouth while glancing at John, who also looked slightly irritated. It seemed that John was investiagting too.

"That would be Leon and Gwaine." Harry told them. "Sorry - gotta go - bye!" he rushed out of the room and stumbled down the stairs.

Once he was gone from the room, Sherlock leapt up and slammed the window frame open, half of his body hanging outside as he gazed downwards. Two men were at the flat door. One was tall, with dark blonde curls and a slight moustache and beard, while the other was shorter, with long chocolate brown hair that hung down to his shoulders. John joined Sherlock at the wondow, frowning. Both of the men were wearing jeans and t-shirts... but they looked uncomfortable.

Harry yanked the door open and greeted them both with many-hugs (strangely) and then locked the door behind him before the three men set off down the street, hands in pockets, locked in a conversation.

Sherlock turned around, demanding to Freya, who was reading a newspaper at the table, "Who are they?"

"Harry told you." she said, confused. "They're Leon and Gwaine."

"No coincedence then that they both have names from Arthurian Legend then," John said, still looking out the window.

"Their mums thought it was a laugh." Freya told them.

"Do you have an answer to every question?" Sherlock said sarcastically.

"Maybe I wouldn't if you stopped asking me questions," Freya snapped back.

Sherlock took a threatening step forwards. "Who is he?"

"Who?"

"Harry Emrys!"

"You just said his name! You KNOW who is his!" Freya cried out, jumping to her feet, throwing the newspaper down.

"THAT'S NOT HIS REAL NAME!" Sherlock roared. "JUST TELL ME THE TRUTH!"

"Sherlock!" John shouted, grabbing his arm. "Shut up! Stop being so rude!"

But Sherlock's words seemed to have affected Freya viciously. She was shaking, looking terrified, about to cry, and she sprinted out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

"WHAT happened last night?" Sherlock yelled, frustrated. "WHAT are they not telling us?"

"Why don't you start from the beginning," John suggested. Sherlock proceeded to gabble on about what he had heard last night and deduced about the couple (it was not much). John seemed interested and just as suspicious as Sherlock.

Sherlock was about to storm out of the room when he suddened paused. "Wait."

"What is it?" John asked instantly.

"Freya left something on the table." Sherlock informed him, rushing back into the kitchen, looking around the table. "By accident."

He held something into the light, squinting, before shoving it in John's hand.

It was the seal ring of the King of Camelot.

* * *

"This is..." John looked stunned.

"The seal ring of Arthur Pendragon," Sherlock answered, frowning, his expression serious.

"How on_ earth...?_"

"Why don't we start by asking Mr Harry and Miss Freya where they got it?" Sherlock growled.

"They could have stolen it?" John suggested.

"No, Harry was wearing it on his right index finger and he's had it for quite a while," Sherlock told him, pacing back and forth. "When his friends -"

"Leon and Gwaine," John interrupted.

" - Yes, them, when they arrived at the door, Harry slipped it off his finger and handed it to Freya. She left it on the table accidentally."

"So he doesn't want his friends to see it?"

"He doesn't want to be seen with it in public," Sherlock corrected. "His friends know about it?"

"How the hell do you know that?" John asked, exasperated.

"I noticed," Sherlock said simply. "He trusts Freya more than anyone in the world, _so_ handed her the ring, hoping she'd look after it."

"She didn't want us to know about Harry," John pointed out. "She's in on his secret."

"No," Sherlock corrected, still pacing. "She's part of it."

"If she's part of it, we won't get anything out of her," John said, shrugging.

Time for a break in.

* * *

"Say_ what_ now?" John asked disbelievingly. Sherlock didn't actually want him to break into someones flat..._again_. Sherlock raised one eyebrow

"I said 'Break into their flat' John" he repeated. John's face fell into a blank mask

"_You_, want _me_, to break into Harry's flat?" he deadpanned. Sherlock nodded and proceeded to go on a rant about mud particles, black coffee, and whatever other bullshit that flew into that annoyingly large brain of his. John raised a finger

"Excuse me a moment" he said before he walked out of the flat door. Sherlock smirked

"Three...two...one'

"ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!'' John walked calmly back in

"Feeling better?" Sherlock inquired snickering. John smiled

"Much thank you"

* * *

John crept into the Emrys' flat and took a quick peak

Everything was normal. It was a typically boyish flat, with magazines and papers strewn all over the place and several coffee mugs which may or may not have things living in them. The table was invisible under a messy college of sweet wrappers, cinema tickets, paper, sketches of some sort of mythical lake, tea mugs, plates and hang on, 'sketches of some sort of mythical lake?' now that, wasn't normal. Then again, John's list of normal things included psychotic brothers with weird obsessions of umbrella's and severed limbs residing in the fridge where the butter dish should be.

This was going to be a long day.


End file.
